


res scarlata

by Kiiyoshi



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Childhood Friends, Djeeta and Tor are both retainers of Aglovale, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mentions of religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29626530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiiyoshi/pseuds/Kiiyoshi
Summary: No hellfire burns too hotly if only he were to think of her, and no price is too great if only to see her smile again.
Relationships: Aglovale/Djeeta (Granblue Fantasy), Aglovale/Djeeta/Tor, Aglovale/Tor, Djeeta/Tor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 10





	1. Home

_The sun was warm on her back, the pond water cool and nearly inviting as its surface sparkled with light. She smiled to herself as she tossed another helping of breadcrumbs before her, watching as waterbirds and fish alike gathered to collect her charity._

_She spent the afternoon like this until the sound of footsteps over grass and damp ground brought her out of her reverie, and she turned to see her beloved master and her fellow retainer watching her from the shadows of a willow tree. Pride and adoration bloomed in her chest as she stood up, gathering her dress into her hands as she brought herself up the incline that formed the shore of the pond._

_“Djeeta,” Aglovale said, ever so gently and ever so lowly, his voice a murmur yet audible all the same from where she stood. “We’re leaving now.”_

_That was fine, she thought. She was getting bored anyways, but as she lifted her foot to catch up to them underneath the shade of the willow, something caught her ankle and sent her tumbling onto all fours._

_Aglovale and Tor watched her, the distant fondness in their gaze unchanging even as they slowly began to turn._

_Where were they going? She wanted to ask them to wait, but nothing left her mouth. She tugged on her legs, using her arms to force herself up before she stumbled yet again like a broken porcelain doll caught in the mud. Sudden desperation and fear took over her as their backs grew smaller and smaller underneath the harsh gaze of the sun, and not once did they look back even as she clawed into the ground as she tried to drag herself after them in vain._

_Again and again, she stumbled and they grew only fainter. When had the sunlight been so blinding?_

_She cried out, reaching. Don’t leave her behind, she wanted to scream. Wait for her, she sobbed. Don’t leave her, don’t leave—_

She awoke suddenly and violently with her arm outstretched before her. Tor stood frozen in the doorway with a tray in his arms, as solid as ever with his mouth hanging open as if he could not believe the sight before him.

“I—” Djeeta hastily lowered her arm and hid it behind her back as if the other didn’t just witness everything in its entirety. “Tor, what are you doing in my room?”

As he set the tray down while barely holding it together for some reason, Djeeta realized that they were not actually in her room, and when he closed the distance between them to wordlessly draw her into a tight embrace, her fresh confusion was compounded with another layer of it as she awkwardly patted his back.

This was Tor, wasn’t it? Was he possessed, sick? Maybe he got scolded by Aglovale and was vying for her comfort, but it was usually the other way around, wasn’t it?

“T-Tor…?”

“We are not in your room,” was what he had to say, and she huffed before forcefully prying him off.

“I figured that out, thank you,” she replied. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden—did you finally screw up and get into trouble?”

He tilted his head. “Pardon?”

Djeeta reached up to pull on his cheeks. Wasn’t she the one who should still be in the middle of waking up? “You're being clingy and you look like you've just seen a ghost. It's kind of weird.”

The other shifted and his energy followed him, leaving her to steep even longer in her confusion as she waited for him to answer.

“Djeeta…” he began carefully despite her wanton manipulation of his face. “You’ve been extremely ill and Lord Aglovale and I did not know if you’d ever return.”

That was one answer she didn’t expect when she didn’t feel even the slightest bit sick—quite the opposite actually. “Return from what, a cold?”

He grimaced, betraying his usual countenance yet again as he reached up to feel her temperature.

“Doubtful. We’ve… lost track of the time, but it has been years since you've last been awake.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It took some convincing on her end to get Tor to allow her to leave bed and take her along to reintroduce her to the rest of the castle, but she knew him well enough to know which strings to pull and which buttons to press to get him to do what she wanted, and she knew he knew she knew, but here they were all the same.

“I thought he’d come see me if I just woke up from a super long coma,” Djeeta pouted, fiddling with the chiffon of her sleeves and the ribbon tied around her waist. “But I guess even now the war efforts don’t really wait for anyone, do they? He’s always busy, and I’m actually surprised that _you_ of all people have the time to babysit me.”

“You did ask me to do just that,” Tor sighed as she turned to fiddling with a pair of curtains to one of the windows lining the hall instead. They were drawn shut even though it was the middle of the afternoon. “But Lady Djeeta—”

“I would’ve never believed you when you said I’ve been unconscious for years,” she said, shooting him a look. “But it really must have been a long time if you’re suddenly calling me that again.”

Tor cleared his throat. “Djeeta, then,” he corrected himself. “I thought you would be pleased to hear that there is no longer a war, and as such, there is no more need for you to oversee the cavalry.”

She stopped, jaw falling slack at the sudden onset of news. “There’s… it’s over? So the church, they’ve finally come around, and—?”

“There’s no longer any fighting between us,” he said. “You can rest your sword now.”

A weight she had long grown used to dissipated from her shoulders, leaving her free to spring up and throw her arms around her fellow retainer before she lifted him inches from the ground in celebration. “That’s great! That’s great isn’t it? We don’t have to fight anymore, and you and Aglovale can finally get some rest.”

Tor endured her manhandling with immeasurable patience until she finally set him back down. “Is it not you who will be getting the rest, _Hound of Wales_?”

Djeeta pinched him and he humored her with a reaction, but she was far from satisfied when she returned to stretching his cheeks like putty. “Keep that up and I’ll leave all the cleaning and cooking and paperwork to you, Tor.”

“And is that not already the current state of aff—ouch.”

Djeeta finally let him go before turning back to the window, her displeasure for the moniker giving away into warmth as the realization of a life without war settled upon her. She never really liked fighting, or rather, she never really liked hurting other people, but for Aglovale, she took up the sword, and she would continue to do so for as long as he called upon her.

“I help sometimes,” she mumbled belatedly, more distracted and ecstatic than anything else. “But hey, now I have more time to help fix up the castle.” With a new sense of purpose budding in her chest, she wrenched the curtains open to allow the sunlight in, but a flurry of movement from the corner of her eyes had her turning back around to find the other with his arms shielding his face.

“Tor?”

“...My apologies,” he said, slowly lowering his arms. Had he always been so pale? “It was just… very bright.”

“S-Sorry,” she said meekly, drawing the curtains a little closer. “Better?”

He straightened slowly before turning to face her again, even going as far as to step closer despite the clear discomfort on his face. “It’s not something you need to apologize for. You may have them open all the way if it pleases you,” he said. “I was simply startled, is all. Not like Lord Aglovale, where…”

She frowned. “Not like Aglovale?”

Tor paused as if to deeply consider something out of sight. “We’ve… since your illness, His Lordship has entered into a disagreement with the daylight hours. He hasn’t come to see you yet because it's still his bedtime hours, but I am sure he will seek your forgiveness come suppertime.”

“Hypocrite,” she muttered, turning back away from him to press her forehead to the glass. “The two of you always gave me trouble for napping in the middle of the day.”

“His Lordship was concerned about your health for you’d fall asleep in the middle of the gardens,” Tor replied. “But yes, we… do make a pair of hypocrites.”

Djeeta grimaced. He was right about the first part—she really did end up getting seriously sick, didn’t she? So sick she couldn’t remember a thing, so sick to the point of uselessness that Tor and Aglovale were able to put an end to a war without her help. “I didn’t mean it,” she said, glancing back at him. “Tor, I’m… I’m glad you’re here with me. I’m sorry for making you worry—for everything.”

The lines in his face soften. “That is another thing you have no need to apologize for.” He extended a hand. “Come… let’s have you dressed in something more suitable for tonight.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


For all her anticipation throughout the day, Aglovale did not keep her waiting, and as she gazed upon his face from the other side of the Grand Hall, she felt the extent of her own absence from the world for she realized she had forgotten the color of his eyes till now. They were a deep scarlet far richer than anything she could remember, and she could not relinquish them from her sight as she stumbled across the length of the hall to throw herself into his arms.

The stillness of his body and the chill of his skin escaped her as she buried her face into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around him as if afraid that he’d slip from her grasp. Something trembled within her as she felt the weight of his hand press against the back of her head, but nothing more than a choked attempt at his name left her lips. 

“Should it not be I who is left speechless at the sight of you?” he asked, and she could picture the amusement dancing in his eyes as his voice thrummed throughout her senses. “I have not seen your gaze in such a very long time, but for you, it must seem like just yesterday.”

She whimpered faintly, her image thrown to the wind as she felt him trace the crystalline ornaments that Tor had painstakingly arranged in her hair.

“Djeeta,” he said, drawing her focus to him as if he did not already claim ownership over her entire world the moment he made his presence known. “Will you continue to deprive me of your face?”

After a moment and with some reluctance, she pulled away and averted her gaze out of pure shame. Her eyes were red and swollen, cheeks, nose, and lips flushed a deep pink, but Aglovale could only chuckle as he pushed away the strands of hair sticking to her dampened skin.

“Stunning. Neither death nor illness can tarnish your visage,” he purred as his fingers brushed against the gemstones dangling from her ears before tracing the necklace adorning her collar and the filigree of her dress. “Did Tor pick this all out for you?”

“Yes,” she mumbled without looking at him.

“It suits you well. I wonder if you spared him such a greeting when you first awoke,” he said.

Tor took it upon himself to answer. “Lady Djeeta asked if I had failed in my duty as a retainer and then attempted to rearrange my face, my lord.”

“He’s exaggerating,” she hiccuped and Aglovale burst into laughter. 

“I see you’re recovering quickly then,” he said, sobering up after a few moments as his fingers turned to stroking her hair and face as if to confirm that she really was alive and well before him. “It appears you can walk and even run without trouble, but what else? Are you feeling unwell in any way?”

She felt herself bend beneath the weight of his concern until Aglovale tilted her gaze back up with a single finger. “Enough of that. No vassal of mine should be addressing the floor in my presence.”

“I’m… I feel fine,” she managed to say and it was nothing short of the truth. In fact, she felt like a whole new person with the two men she loved more than anything in the world at her side—what more could she be wanting?

Amusement returned to his gaze as he thumbed away her tears. “For the one who left us with a mess and who claims to ‘feel fine’, you shed many tears.”

“You can cry too if you want,” she sniffed, trying to blink back said tears. “Otherwise I’m gonna cry for both you and stupid Tor.”

“I fail to recognize my crimes,” Tor said as Aglovale laughed again.

“It matters not. You’ve returned to us, and all is well again,” he said, pulling away and turning with flourish as Tor pulled open a bottle with a single graceful motion. Once his own glass was filled, he lifted it towards her while his eyes brimmed with warmth and adoration.

“Welcome back, Djeeta. May we never be apart again.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


She was halfway through her meal when she noticed that both Aglovale and Tor’s plates were lacking compared to her own. When she brought it up, the former merely raised a brow.

“Tor did not tell you?”

She blinked, pressing her fork to her bottom lip as she tasted the sweet traces of cranberry sauce trapped between the prongs. “Tell me what?”

Aglovale gestured with his hand, gaze somber. “Business has slowed to a trickle ever since the war ended. Our coffers have long run dry.”

She swallowed, hastily lowering her fork as if caught in the middle of wrongdoing. “Dry…?”

He laced his fingers together, eyes closed as if to mourn the situation. “Not only that, but rain stopped falling, the rivers have run dry, the forests have shriveled up and burned down. Absolutely unfathomable misfortune.”

Djeeta felt herself grow cold. “Burned down… all of it?”

He nodded slowly. “And every plague you can name. I am afraid this is the last of our rations which we have saved for you for this particular occasion. Starting tomorrow, it will be water and stale bread.”

Djeeta trembled, pushing over her plate of pork loin and herbed potatoes towards the two of them even as her stomach growled loudly in protest. “I-I don’t need it… Please… please eat up, the two of you…”

“My lord, I think that’s enough,” Tor finally spoke. “Lady Djeeta is on the verge of tears again.”

She did not know what he was talking about until Aglovale burst into a loud fit of laughter. “Have you seen someone go white so quickly at the prospect of eating stale bread?”

Realization suddenly dawned on her and she gasped, nearly upsetting her glass as she stood up. “You—you were _lying_ to me!”

Aglovale laughed again, wiping the hint of tears from his eyes. “You ate up everything I said without question, I simply could not help myself after so long.”

Djeeta took back her plate, shoving her food into her mouth between noises of displeasure. Tor cast her a sympathetic gaze.

“It was a very one-sided affair. You would have believed His Lordship if he told you the sky was green or if phyllos grew on special trees.”

“Phyllos don’t grow on trees,” she sniffled after swallowing a mouthful. “You bake them in ovens.”

“Oh? But the sky _can_ be green?”

“I’m going back to bed,” she sniffled again. “Back into a coma.”

Aglovale raised his glass and Tor refilled it. “Not before you finish your meal and drink, I presume.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Djeeta did not like bitter things, but it was for his sake and the sake of their reunion that she shared in their drink, and it was for the sake of their drink that she now slept peacefully in his arms, her wine-tinted cheeks aglow in the seclusion of her room.

Aglovale stroked her hair, his gaze laden with fondness as he carefully undid her crystalline adornments and set them aside some place where they would not disturb her comfort. “Garnet,” he murmured. “From afar, they resemble drops of blood, do they not?”

“It was my assumption that it would suit your tastes, my lord.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “She was beautiful even amongst the gore and grime of a battlefield, but I commend your eye.” He paused, thoughtful as he continued combing his fingers through her hair. “Even though you were brazen enough to deceive her to spare me the burden of doing so myself. Take her.”

Djeeta did not stir even as she was handed off to the other. Tor took her with care and gingerness, and underneath his master’s watchful gaze, held her close.

“Tiny thing, isn’t she?” he asked. “And to think there was a time when she was only a head shorter than you. Go on.”

Tor faltered even though his countenance did not. “My lord?”

“I could smell your hunger ever since the night began, Tor,” Aglovale replied, finger tapping the side of his chin. “Go on, I said, it will make your punishment all the more bearable. She is warm and her pulse thrums with life, does it not? Look how peacefully she rests in your arms—even if she were to awaken, there is no doubt she would forgive you.”

The other lowered his gaze as Djeeta slept on, blissfully naive. “I see that the banter of tonight’s supper did not satiate your sense of humor, my lord.”

"I _am_ insatiable," Aglovale chuckled, shifting his weight to the other side. “Until tonight, I only had you to alleviate my boredom. It brings my heart ease to see this rather tender side to you, Tor, but I will not be embittered if you one day decide to claim a taste for yourself.”

He did not say anything as Djeeta twitched in her sleep, shifting ever so slightly so that her face rested against his chest. 

“Now then,” Aglovale continued, the mirth slipping from his gaze. “Unfortunately, your punishment is not a jest. On your knees now, unless you intend to contest my judgement?”

“No, my lord,” Tor replied as he shifted himself into position to obey, painfully aware of how loose his own collar was. “But in the presence of Lady Djeeta?”

His master smirked, but without the cruelty one may expect of their situation. “She only teases you because you insist so strongly on propriety by calling her with such a title.”

“In all fairness, this too is an act of propriety on your part, my lord.”

Aglovale stifled a short burst of laughter with the back of his hand. “Yes. Yes, you could say so, and I trust that you will hold still enough as to not disturb her slumber.”

“I will.”

With no more words left to exchange, he rose from his seat only to lower himself onto his own knees before the pair of them. Again, Djeeta did not stir from her place in Tor’s arms, and she did not stir even as his breaths left him in shuddering, barely-controlled gasps when Aglovale sunk his fangs into the flesh that was his bloodright.

His venom was nothing short of intoxicating, an overwhelming force that rendered the pride of even the most imperturbable men useless. Pleasure would fill and overpower the senses, turning any resistance to ash if such a resistance existed, and it was a power he was familiar with but no more immune to than the first time he was subjected to his master’s desire.

If he were not a monster himself, he would be left boneless with Djeeta left to the unforgiving mercy of the ground. Instead, she remained comfortably pressed between the two of them while Aglovale took from him his fill.

“You’ve done well, Tor,” he murmured lowly after pulling away, his eyes a bright, bright red in defiance of the pale moonlight itself. He wiped the blood from his mouth and licked the remnants of it from his hand as Tor was left clutching Djeeta, her warmth and the steady rhythm of her heart grounding him back to reality. “But you’d do better to take care of yourself as well. This must be difficult for you.”

“If… if it’ll please you, my lord,” he managed, nearly breathless.

“Hmph.” He rested one hand on his collar, inches away from the bite wound that slowly began to close, and the other atop Djeeta’s head, who mumbled something incoherent in her sleep. “Not just I.”

She mumbled something again, just as incoherent as before while her fingers twitched, coincidentally snagging on the hem of his clothing as if in agreement.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valentines Aglovale got me feeling a bunch of different things, and I think Djeeta would make a great emotional support animal for untouchable men.


	2. Heresy

_Only a man of his uncle’s calibur would sincerely believe that a human child would make for an appropriate coming-of-age gift. Aglovale spared her a single glance before addressing the duke once more._

_“We are in no need of any more servants.”_

_“It’s a birthday gift,” the duke said again as if he did not understand him the first time, giving said “gift” a good shove over to his side. She stumbled like a newborn fawn against the wind, but nonetheless remained upright although her eyes stayed drawn to the ground. “You’re of that age now, aren’t you? If not a servant, you can take her as a concubine once you’re king, unless an early harvest is more your—”_

_The air prickled with ice. “Please do not make such crude jokes within my father’s domain, Uncle.”_

_The older man scoffed. “Hah! I see Lady Herzeloyde has raised you nice and proper. Well, I’m proper enough not to open the presents I give.”_

_The girl said nothing in defense of her own pride, but how could she? The young lord shut his eyes with veiled resignation—it would be more trouble to deal with the fallout of rejecting the duke’s supposed hospitality no matter how distasteful than to take in the child. “... I humbly accept the gift, Uncle. Tor.”_

_“Yes, my lord.”_

_“Get her cleaned up and dressed properly for my mother. If she is hungry, give her food from the table as well.”_

_“As you wish.”_

_His retainer extended a hand for the child to take, and Aglovale saw something resembling warmth stir in the depths he thought too broken to bother with._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


During the war, drills in the courtyards would take place from morning till noon, but now that times of peace were upon them and the castle staff was downsized into nonexistence, the Hound of Wales wasn’t quite sure what to make of herself as she awkwardly flitted from castle room to castle room as if a task with her name on it would miraculously appear.

“You could rest,” Tor had suggested when he passed by during one of his usual errands. “Lord Aglovale would not want you to push yourself so soon after your illness.”

“After sleeping for so long, shouldn’t I be able to at least stay up for a few days straight without trouble?” she asked.

“Please don’t do that,” he said. “That’s not how that works.”

After making her promise not to overexert herself doing household tasks, Tor left her to her own devices for the most part, but not without warning her to stay out of the castle’s undercrofts for the foundation had weakened over the years.

“This place is falling apart,” she sighed wistfully to herself. “Look, they’ve even let your portrait get dusty, Lady Herze.”

Once upon a time, a visiting curator scolded her from one end of the castle to the other after she rubbed her grubby hands over the canvas of one of his precious oil paintings. She was careful now as she stretched her entire body to reach the far corners of the portrait, practically dangling off the side of the ladder until every speck of dust was banished into the air to presumably land somewhere else in the room.

“There has to be a better way to do this,” she grumbled. “I’m no good, but I can’t sit still for long because what if Aglovale _fires_ me too.”

The former lady of the castle’s visage almost seemed to laugh at her paranoia, and Djeeta could imagine her saying that her beloved son could never do such a thing.

And so she spent the following days doing just this—whether it be the halls or the sunrooms or the observatories or the halls again because dust was a foe more relentless than any knight she’d ever faced in battle, she found herself talking to the castle’s many paintings whenever Tor wasn’t around to alleviate her boredom.

Days turned into weeks, and loneliness began to set in despite her best efforts. When she heard the distant clops of a carriage, Djeeta almost tumbled down the side of Lady Herzeloyde’s portrait to throw herself at the window just in time to catch sight of one pulling into the bailey. A woman wearing a dark veil stepped out and Tor was there to receive her—unsurprising really when there was nobody else to do the job, but what _did_ surprise her was the carriage departing immediately after, which meant their visitor was here to stay at least for a little while.

Djeeta frowned. She didn’t recognize her from her gait or stature—if she wasn’t a distant relative, then perhaps one of them noticed her struggling and decided to hire much-needed help, or Lord Aglovale was not as hopeless as she thought he was.

For the sake of her sanity, she decided on the former.

Tor wasn’t present after she rushed into the reception hall to find the young woman seated by herself with her hands folded neatly in her lap. She sat as still as a rock with her hair falling in long chestnut curls, her eyes downturned until she took notice of her company, and Djeeta could not help but think that she looked rather pretty if a bit solemn.

“Hello,” she greeted, her chest rising and falling after she practically tumbled down the stairwell. “Did Tor leave you here by yourself?”

The woman did not answer, looking rather shocked as if the sight of her alone rendered her speechless for reasons she couldn’t fathom.

She tilted her head, blinking. Did she come on too strongly? Did she forget—oh right, she was supposed to curtsy during situations like these. She immediately corrected herself. “Sorry I—it’s just been a long time since I got the chance to talk to a girl my age, but my name’s Djeeta.”

“You… do you live here?” Her voice was just as delicate as the rest of her appearance when she spoke. “...with monsters?”

Djeeta blinked again. “Come again?”

“You just... don’t seem to be like the rest of them.”

She tilted her head the other way, wondering if she misheard a second time. Rest of who? What kind of castle did this person think they were living in? The two women were left staring at each other in baffled silence until a thought finally occurred to her.

“Are you… talking about Lord Aglovale?”

The woman’s continued silence was enough of an answer and she finally understood why she seemed to teeter between stiffness and resignation.

“You… don’t have to be afraid,” she offered, wondering how one could ever reach that kind of conclusion. “I know how he comes off, but he’s really kind and he cares deeply for his people.”

The woman stared at her again, disbelieving. “ _Kind_?”

Djeeta brought her hands together, beaming at the opportunity to sing his praises to somebody who apparently had no idea of Aglovale’s benevolence. “Yes! You could probably tell by now, but I’m a lowborn and he still took me in and made sure I was warm and clothed and fed. I was never good at cooking and cleaning, but he always stuck up for me and kept me around anyways.”

“Cooking and cleaning…” The woman averted her gaze once more. “Me either, perhaps that’s why…”

“That’s fine!” Without any thought or respect for boundaries and propriety, she leaned forward and grasped the other’s hands. “We can always learn! I need all the help I can get, and if you don’t like it, I’m sure Lord Aglovale can find something else for you to d—”

“Djeeta.”

She almost yelped, jumping up from her seat before dropping the lady’s hands. She got so caught up in the excitement of finally having company that she didn’t notice the other coming up from behind her. “H-Hello.”

“You left the hallway of the west wing half-done,” Tor said dangerously lightly, causing her to wilt. “You should finish up before you forget, especially if you intend to clean up the dining hall by the evening as well.”

“Right… _right_ , that was on my list too.” She wrung her hands together beneath his gaze. Nothing about his demeanor or countenance changed, but she’d known him for long enough to know when he was upset. She had no idea he would feel so strongly about the west wing’s cleanliness, but many thoughts had vacated her head at the prospect of having company. “I’m sorry. I’ll get right back to it.”

“There’s no need for an apology, but you should leave now.” 

Admonished, she ducked her head to leave the two of them to whatever business they had initially set out to do, but the woman called her name and stopped her in her tracks.

“Djeeta,” the woman said. “I… I have already accepted everything, but you still found a way to bring my heart ease. Thank you.”

Djeeta smiled, nodding once and raising her hand in half a wave while her own heart swelled with warmth, naive to the meaning of those words.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tor was never one to vent his anger, but fear of his quiet wrath for a job half-done proved to be a powerful motivator as Djeeta took care of not only the west wing and dining hall, but the east wing as well.

By the end of it, she found herself in the gardens where she spent most of her free time nowadays, peering into a freshly-made robin’s nest resting in the fork of one of their peach trees. To her utter delight, three pale blue eggs gleamed right back at her, and it took all of her willpower not to immediately grab them.

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” she asked no one in particular, ducking her head to resurface on the other side of the nest to stare at the eggs from a different angle. “But it’s a good thing if that means spring is officially here. I hope the three of you make it so Aglovale can see you all grow big and strong.”

Determined not to keep the parents away for any longer in case they were watching from nearby, Djeeta returned to her place on the grass and collapsed backwards, huffing once as she turned her eyes towards the great blue sky. The air was brisk, but the sunlight was warm on her skin, and she couldn’t help but wonder how her fellow knights were doing during a time of peace like this. She never got to say goodbye to them, nor to any of the servants, and while it was nobody’s fault, it still stung and the emptiness of the castle grounds only rubbed it deeper in.

She rolled over. Even so, she was lucky and today had been good to her even if she may or may not have told a potential suitress that she could just _learn_ to clean and cook if she didn’t know how. Once Aglovale was awake and had his breakfast, she could tell him all about her new friend, the work she managed, and the young life that had sprung up from within his beloved garden. It would make him happy, she thought. 

It certainly made her happy, she thought.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When night fell and she poked her head into the kitchens she used to be barred from entering, Djeeta found the pantries to be sorely lacking and she wondered if there had been some truth when Aglovale said their coffers were running dry. It seemed to be a matter of misplaced priorities than anything too serious, but nonetheless, she had her tray of tea and the doors to Aglovale’s bedchambers within sight.

It was night, and this was tea, but she still wondered if this counted as nighttime tea if the other was _leaving_ bed rather than preparing for it. She supposed none of it mattered, and if it turned out she brewed the wrong kind, she could always go back and make some more.

However, after toeing open the door to his bedchambers, Djeeta found not one, but two people in her master’s bed, and she was on the verge of fleeing without a sound when the scent of iron reached her nose.

She realized then that the dark ribbons spilling over the side of the bed were not tresses of chestnut hair, but blood.

The same woman from today stared at her from a faraway place, her gaze drunk and smeared with something unrecognizable as she lay sprawled on her back amidst her half-undone dressings. Aglovale, or somebody who resembled Aglovale, had her mounted, his mouth glued to her throat while the sound of him _drinking_ sent the tray of tea in her arms crashing to the ground.

Scarlet eyes locked her in place the moment Aglovale raised his head to look at her. Long fangs gleamed like slivers of ruby in the moonlight, trails of red trickling from the corners of his mouth and down his chin before coalescing into droplets that stained the pure white of his bedding. With each inhale and exhale, Djeeta could hear the hiss of his breath between his fangs as he settled back onto his haunches to regard her with his usual composure.

But… but this was far from the usual, wasn’t it?

“Djeeta,” he said, his voice as deep and clear as she could remember. “Should you not be in bed?”

A very faint whimper broke the following silence, and she did not know if it came from her own mouth, or the woman’s.

She glanced at her and then back at him, her own eyes the only thing about her that could still move even as scalding hot liquid burned the bottom of her feet.

“Is… she dead?”

Something passed over Aglovale’s features as his gaze lowered for just a fleeting moment. “Not yet.”

“...Please don’t kill her,” she whispered.

Despite everything, the same blood-red gaze that threatened to drown her softened with something that resembled pity as he tucked away a strand of that chestnut hair with something that resembled tenderness. “Tor did say that you’ve been lonely lately…” he murmured. “I can turn her into your handmaid, Djeeta, but do you believe she would rather live on as a monster than meet the end she already prepared herself for?”

She did not understand. He offered her the question with such calm regard in the same breath he used to imply that he too was a monster.

“How can… how can you say—” she could not finish when a sharp ringing suddenly filled her ears. She stumbled, features twisting with confusion and hand reaching for the first thing that could offer her the vaguest form of comfort despite being covered in blood, but even that was beyond her when something within her finally snapped, the force of it shattering her thoughts and sending her to her knees as she clutched her head in pain.

The sound of a wheel turning, the groan of wood and a rope bearing too much burden. Voices she didn’t recognize flooded her senses, overwhelming her as savagely as the white-hot pain that tore through her head. Another voice joined the chorus and she realized from where she was drowning that it was her own screaming.

She didn’t know anything, she swore, yet something bound her arms and cut into her flesh and she could do nothing but fight against it, writhing and clawing at whatever she could, even if it meant tearing herself apart if she could just escape the torment.

But the pain followed her and the voices followed her, murmuring and laughing and chanting their incomprehensible words, their accusations carving themselves deep into her marrow so that she could never ever forget.

_Heretic._

Perhaps this was salvation for she could not think of anything else—she had no choice but to let it consume her, and the memories of the master she clung to so dearly now seemed so far away as her pain finally gave way into a deep, deep darkness.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The screaming had stopped by the time he arrived.

He found a fresh corpse on his master’s bed and Lord Aglovale himself kneeling on the ground with the limp form of his fellow retainer in his arms. She must have fallen unconscious of her own accord for her collar remained untouched and the only red that was her own were the angry lines she had drawn into her own skin.

All of that, however, was behind them now as the other spoke, the baritone of his voice belying none of what his aura betrayed.

“Tor… have you ever heard her scream so loudly?”

He grimaced as he staggered beneath the weight of Aglovale’s unveiled rage, catching himself on the door frame only to slide lower and lower until he was on his knees. “No... my lord.”

“What could coax such a sound out of her… I wonder?”

Tor could not answer him for they both already knew and he stroked her face as if deep in thought, talons running gently over the surface of her skin without leaving so much as a mark. “She said she didn’t know anything.” He combed through her hair, tucking a few stray locks behind her ear. “She was alone, Tor, and nobody ever answered her. Not God... nor I.”

Aglovale’s rage only seemed to dissipate when he brought her to his chest and held her tightly. Tor could hear her heartbeat from where he knelt, the hum of her lifeblood, and he could only guess that Aglovale drew his comfort from the same warmth and rhythm that brought him solace.

She did not have to be alone anymore, he wanted to say. She had come back to them again, and all was well.

All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you just ever get assaulted by an ao3 tag that doesn't exist.


	3. Happiness

_Her only grace was that she made his mother happy when she was still alive, otherwise she was virtually useless in all matters of household chores and a source of grief for the maids and servants and guards who worked tirelessly to keep the castle running._

_She liked Tor well enough. She hovered in his shadow wherever he went on the castle grounds, following him wherever she could. However, he was occupied by his private lessons for the evening, and perhaps it was for that reason his uncle chose tonight to try and kill him._

_It should not have mattered that Djeeta latched onto him in Tor’s absence. She was clumsy, scatterbrained, needy, and without talent. Perhaps that was why the duke tolerated her presence after luring him to the middle of the forest. Perhaps that was why he did not recognize the small figure who stood over the fresh corpse of his would-be assassin, holding a single knife in her hands while the gleaming amber of a wild beast stared wide-eyed back at him._

_Without a single mark of hesitation, she had killed his uncle when he was mere seconds away from crushing his throat, marking them both with his red. She killed him, but Djeeta was of peasant blood and his uncle was from the highest echelons of nobility._

_“Djeeta… come here,” he called with what remained of his voice._

_She padded over to him without hesitation, the glint in her eyes gone as if she had just awoken from a trance._

_“Give me the knife...”_

_She gave it to him._

_“Your… arm.”_

_She held out her right arm. Only when he positioned the blade over her skin did she begin to tremble from head to toe when she realized what he intended to do._

_“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”_

_Aglovale grimaced, but steeled himself and opened a gash from her elbow to wrist, refusing to falter even as she screamed and cried in pain._

_After smearing her blood on her dress and face, he dropped the knife and took both of her arms into his grasp. “Djeeta... all of this... is your blood, do you understand?” His voice left him in hoarse gasps and wheezes, but he needed to tell her._

_She whimpered, choking back her sobs as best she could._

_“Listen to me… the duke attacked us, and I killed him... Tell no one otherwise... not even Tor, or they will kill you, Djeeta. Do you... understand me?”_

_She nodded, shaking as another sob trickled out. “I-I’m sorry...”_

_The steel of his composure finally betrayed him and he pulled her into his arms until she was flush against his chest, his shoulder muffling her cries as her tiny fists clung to his back._

_“You didn’t do anything wrong...” he told her through clenched teeth. How could he say that in one ragged breath and in the other, tell her she’d be killed for what she’d done?_

_“You didn’t do anything wrong... I promise.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


She awoke to warmth, the smell of something sweet, and the sight of Tor sitting at her bedside.

“Something happened again, didn’t it?” she asked through her grogginess as she rubbed her eyes clear. “You’re going to scold me, I just know—oh.”

The source of that sweet smell greeted her in the form of a stack of pancakes coated with honey that shone like gold in the sunlight and garnished with helpings of puffed cream adorned by a lattice of chocolate drizzle. Candied orange shavings made the chocolate glimmer, and as if that were not enough, Tor had set aside a plate of fresh orange slices. The sight of it made her mouth water and she straightened immediately, hands shooting for the knife and fork.

“I’m relieved to see you still have an appetite,” Tor said amicably. “Relieved after I _specifically_ asked you _not_ to push yourself.”

Djeeta squeaked through her mouthful of sugary goodness, having fallen for the bait like a fly to vinegar. “ _Mmf?_ ”

He sighed, reaching out to press the cool of his palm to her forehead. “Djeeta, what did you do yesterday?”

She swallowed quickly, and the mass of cake and chocolate and honey made for a painful journey on the way down. “Yesterday…? Yesterday I cleaned the west wing and dining hall, and I had extra time so I cleaned the east wing… Then I took a break in the gardens, but before all that, I—oh!” She dropped her utensils, grabbing Tor by his sleeves as she remembered her excitement.

“That lady! She’s here to stay for a bit, right? I was thinking I could see her again today and if she wanted, maybe we could try cleaning up the foyer together. That should be easy enough for a first job, right?”

Something passed over Tor’s expression. Something that slowly loosened her grip as her heart fell.

“She already left,” he said. “You won’t be seeing her again, I’m afraid.”

“Oh… oh that’s okay,” she said, slowly taking up her utensils again to carve herself another slice. “I was probably too much anyway.” She stuck her food into her mouth even though her disappointment continued to show.

Tor didn’t say anything at first as he slowly rose and made his way over to the window, taking the curtains to allow more of the sunlight in.

“Your afternoon is free, yes?”

She glanced at him, swallowing again. “Well like I said, I still need to clean the foyer.”

“His Lordship was worried that you’ve been feeling lonely recently. It was his hope that you would join him in the gardens for a picnic this afternoon.”

“I’m free.” Tor turned back around to find her eyes sparking before she tumbled out of bed, kicking her feet free of the linens twisted around her ankles while shoving the rest of her plate into her mouth.

“ _Djeeta—_ ”

Before she could hurt herself by stumbling into the dresser, he caught her and dragged her unceremoniously back to bed amidst her muffled insistence that _yes_ , she _could_ clean the entirety of the castle before afternoon hit without asking herself if she _should_.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tor had spent the better part of his morning ensuring that she stayed where she needed to be, resigning himself to her bedside as she fed him forkfuls of what was left of her breakfast.

“You’re still unwell,” he had told her after decisively banning her from taking up a broom or duster for the rest of the day. “His Lordship was beside himself with worry after you collapsed.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Djeeta had replied, even though her brows remained knitted together. “I was probably just sleepy.” She didn’t remember what went through her mind at the time, but it wouldn’t surprise her if she just simply wanted to pay Aglovale a visit, even if she had to drag herself up the stairs to his floor to do so in the middle of the night.

Perhaps Aglovale had the same idea, and that was why he suddenly decided to see her during the middle of the day _—_ a first since she last awoke from her illness.

After Tor set her free from the dressing room, she found him standing beneath one of the peach trees in the courtyard, dressed down in robes that he usually reserved for the few leisurely strolls he was allowed as lord of the castle before she had fallen sick. His long blond hair fell over his back, a stripe of gold amidst the deep blue of his robes and tied low in a ponytail. A parasol rested over one shoulder and it twirled slowly as he turned to catch sight of her bounding towards him from over the cobblestone, the layers of her soft beige skirt gathered in both hands.

He brought a finger to his lips, smiling serenely as she slowed to a gradual stop before him, tilting her head in an unspoken question before he pointed at a lone robin nesting between the fork of the peach tree.

Djeeta’s eyes lit up and the two of them spent a moment of silence studying the bird who stared back at them with her beady black eyes. When he sensed her curiosity sated, Aglovale extended a hand for her to take before turning to lead her down the cobblestone path, her hand in one, with the parasol in the other. Djeeta’s heels clacked against the pavement as she hopped a few steps to catch up to his side.

“You’re not tired?” she asked him.

“I’ve made time for this,” Aglovale told her. “It would be unseemly of me to not give a dear vassal my unabridged attention.”

Djeeta felt her cheeks burn as she glanced away from him. Aglovale had a way with words that often left her fumbling, but she left it at that and decided to enjoy the view as she followed him to wherever he had in mind.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The place he had in mind was beneath the shade of a great willow with a clear view of one of the garden’s ponds. Djeeta was left staring at the surface, watching with contemplation a raft of ducks foraging amidst the reeds.

A dull ache gripped her chest as that far-off dream returned to her until she felt something squeeze her hand as if to reclaim her attention.

“Watch your step, Djeeta,” Aglovale said, his eyes as gentle as they were in that dream. “The roots have grown unruly over the years, but you’ve always had a sentimental attachment to this spot. It’s not a bad one.”

“I…” She didn’t know what to say, but the other spared her from coming up with a response as he led her to the gingham picnic blanket Tor must have set up prior. Wondering how he was able to get her dressed and then set this spot up for them proved to be a welcome distraction as Aglovale offered her the honors of going through the basket.

She procured sandwiches filled with cucumber butter and egg mixed with mayonnaise, cut into neat little squares with their crusts trimmed off. Madeleines dipped in chocolate and miniature pineapple tarts lined a dish, while tiny cups filled with pickled olives and cured meats lined another. Djeeta took one of the tarts and lifted it to eye level, studying the way the jellied pineapple glistened in the light as she wondered if Tor baked these himself too.

Aglovale watched her, chin resting on one hand. Djeeta looked at him, lowering the tart. 

“Tor isn’t joining us?”

The corner of his lip twitched with thinly-veiled amusement. “Must I share you during an occasion like this?”

Her cheeks burned again as she turned away from him, popping the tart into her mouth and swallowing. It was refreshingly sweet, the buttered crust was nice and flaky and light on her tongue, and Djeeta did not know why her chest continued to ache.

Unfortunately for her, her distraction did not go unnoticed as Aglovale reached over to brush his fingers against the velvet ribbon Tor had tied in her hair. “Is it not to your liking?”

She vehemently shook her head, downing another tart as if to prove her point. 

“It’s… it’s nostalgic, I think,” she said after she finished chewing and swallowing. “Back then, we were always busy, so we rarely got to spend time like this together, but when we did…” She trailed off in thoughtful silence as she gazed out at the pond again. A pair of swans drifted into view, joining the small group of ducks as their long necks arched and folded as they dipped their beaks in and out of the water.

Aglovale cupped her cheek, drawing her gaze back to him.

“You were much smaller than I, but I was cruel to you back then.”

Djeeta blinked, wondering where that came from before she shook her head again, taking one of the sandwiches.

“You were only what, sixteen, eighteen?” she said. “You were small too, but nobody really appreciated that, did they? You had to know everything, be good at everything, do everything, no matter what.”

Aglovale laughed softly, dropping his hand to trace the rim of one of the dishes she had pulled from the basket. “To think that a tiny thing who only came up to my waist did. Nonetheless, their expectations of the man in my position were reasonable.”

She made a non-commital noise, taking the opportunity to offer him the sandwich. Aglovale considered it for a moment before he closed his eyes, leaning in and parting his lips to claim it in one neat bite. She watched him chew and swallow it with inexplicable curiosity before a tongue poked out to wipe away a stray smudge of butter.

“But you’re still only human,” she said after a moment. “Back then, I thought that sometimes even you forgot that too, Aglovale.”

“I suppose that’s why you found fit to often remind me.” He tilted his head. “What of now, Djeeta?”

“What about now?” she replied, claiming a sandwich for herself. The egg and mayonnaise melded together perfectly on her tongue. “Well… I don’t know. Those days feel so far behind us, and with the war over, I’m out of a job.”

She sighed and slid downward until she was resting in his lap, but not without poking an olive to his lips. Aglovale obliged her before he turned to stroking her hair, fingers toying with the ends of her ribbon, but careful enough not to disturb Tor’s handiwork.

“Djeeta… are you unhappy?”

She glanced back at him, pushing herself onto an elbow. “Unhappy...?” she echoed in question. “The world’s given me everything I’ve ever wanted… how could I ever be unhappy?”

Aglovale regarded her with thoughtful silence as his fingers lingered at the ends of her ribbon. She took his hand into her own and collapsed back into his lap as she pressed his knuckles to her lips. His skin was warmer than she last remembered, and he seemed to be a better color too. Perhaps she was right and a little extra food and sunlight did him well.

“I’m happy,” she murmured against his hand. “I’m so happy, sometimes I think my chest’s about to burst.”

“Now,” Aglovale said, a hint of laughter in his words. “I couldn’t bear something like that.”

She smiled at him with a touch of mischievousness, an invitation for something unspoken until a sudden, half-formed thought occurred to her and she reached up to press a thumb to his bottom lip. He blinked, curious with the sudden gesture, and without thinking at all, she slipped the digit inside and parted his lips until she caught a glimpse of his teeth.

Why did she expect to find something else there?

Not to be outdone, Aglovale responded by running his tongue over her thumb and grabbing her wrist before she could snatch her hand away as she squeaked.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured lowly against her palm, the reverberations of his voice running down the length of her arm like it were a piano string. “Were you not being coquetous with me?”

“S-stoppp,” she whined, kicking her feet out. “I—you had a piece of cucumber in your teeth!”

“ _Liar_ ,” he chuckled against her skin, running his teeth over the shape of her veins, only to pause when he took notice of the scratches on her arm. Something unreadable passed over his gaze as she sobered up, remembering what Tor had told her when she noticed them that morning.

“You hurt yourself in your sleep.” It was more a statement than a question and Djeeta wondered how deeply he could read her to know that much from a glance.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she mumbled, looking away from him. “Tor already gave me medicine for it.”

She didn’t want him to worry, but she felt the weight of his concern on her all the same.

The hand she kept close unravelled to stroke her cheek before resting its thumb against one of her temples. “Djeeta, have you been having unpleasant dreams?”

She closed her eyes if only to distance herself from the sudden scrutiny. “Everyone gets nightmares,” she said. “None of it matters as long as I have you and Tor with me.”

“Then you’ve been dreaming of a world without us.”

Djeeta winced, pulling her hand out of his grasp before turning over and away from him. “I said it doesn’t matter!”

She didn’t mean to snap, least of all at _him_ , but hearing him say such a thing with his own voice and in his own words made her feel as if there was a touch of truth or reality to what should just be a simple, childish nightmare.

It filled her with an anxiety she didn’t understand.

Aglovale didn’t say anything more as she continued to stew in her regret and confusion. Without seeing his face or feeling his touch, she wondered if he was upset with her in turn, but whatever he must be feeling, he apparently found it acceptable to continue having her head in his lap.

Only when she was on the brink of crumbling beneath the silence did he finally speak.

“...I’ve upset you. Forgive me.”

Djeeta grimaced again, holding herself tighter as she wondered why he had to cave so easily when the fault lied with her. She was like this with Tor too, wasn’t she? Aglovale was his own level of incomprehensible at times, but she ended up being the difficult one again as if she really were trapped in her old ways from youth.

She quietly rose until she was sitting up again, turning to face him once more. Briefly, she too wondered if a part of him was unhappy, if there was something he regretted. The way he looked at her gripped her chest, and she asked herself what was the point of seeking her forgiveness when he already had her wrapped around his finger since the very beginning.

“Stay with me,” she said in lieu of the apology she wanted to give. She lowered her gaze and allowed herself to fall forward as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Something about him made it so easy for her to give in. “Stay with me forever, and never leave me… Nothing else in the world matters if you can promise me that.”

She felt his body shift as his hands found purchase on her waist. 

“I should be the one to ask that of you, my dear vassal,” he murmured against her collar.

“I promise then,” Djeeta said without hesitation, watching with half-lidded eyes as his hair slipped from between her fingers. “Wherever… wherever you go, I’ll follow you. Always.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Tor walked in on her turning in early for bed when he stopped by to collect the empty tea set and tray.

“You had a fight with His Lordship,” he said amidst the clatter of porcelain against metal.

“Aglovale doesn’t get into fights,” Djeeta mumbled as she worked out the knots in her hair. “Not like that, anyways… Did he tell you?”

Tor collected the tray and pushed the cart to wait outside, deciding instead to take a seat behind her to help untangle her hair. “I’m afraid you wear all your troubles on your sleeve despite your best efforts to hide them.”

She pouted. She was in need of more training if the two of them could still read her so easily. She had a feeling Tor was smiling to himself as he reached for the oil from her vanity, squeezing a few drops of the liquid into his palm to work into her hair.

Resigned to his care, Djeeta lowered her hands and settled with watching him through the mirror. “...Tor, do you remember the day of Lady Herze’s funeral?”

“I remember,” he said, extending his hand for the brush. She gave it to him and he started running it over a particularly stubborn knot. “Why do you ask?”

“Aglovale stopped smiling for a while after she passed away,” she said softly. “One time, I showed him a rabbit’s nest and he liked it enough to ask me about it even after the babies had grown up. The day after the funeral, I couldn’t find any rabbits so I caught a bunch of frogs and snakes and even a couple sparrows I think. I was really proud of myself for that, you know.”

“I do remember this,” Tor said as he brushed out the rest of her hair. “You set them loose in the castle and disrupted the delegation that was supposed to take place that day.”

Djeeta withered even though she was the one who brought it up. “That part was an accident. I just wanted to show him what I caught,” she moaned. “I thought it’d make him happy… but I just ended up causing more trouble for everyone, including him.”

Tor smiled gently as he began to section the back of her hair. Djeeta could say that he even looked fond despite all the embarrassment those memories served her.

“I… I think I cause a lot of trouble for you two even now.”

The other didn’t say anything at first, and she watched him move on to braiding each section of her hair even though there wasn’t much length to work with. She couldn’t help but relax a little as she studied the way his hands moved in repeated, but deliberate motions as if he’d done this many times before—she knew he had, because she remembered.

Tor always cared for her. He must’ve been the one who tended her through her sickness too, and when she finally confessed her worries to Aglovale, the other had assured her with his casual confidence that Tor needed her as much as she needed him, and that one day she would see that for herself.

“The path to the throne slowly kills the heart,” Tor finally said. “One grows up without knowing who to trust, who to keep close, and that the ones who should love you most are the ones most likely to bury their knives in your back.”

Djeeta lowered her eyes, slowly gripping her right arm as he set aside a completed braid.

“You’re his guidepost, Djeeta,” he continued, drawing her gaze back up. “Of course Lord Aglovale decided not to follow that path in the end, but Lady Herzeloyde knew and even Lord Gahmuret could not deny the life you breathed into the castle. Even now, after all the things you were forced to do as the Hound of—ouch—as the captain of his knights, you’re still as gentle and kind as ever.”

She took her hand back after reaching around to pinch him in the side. She wondered how much of that was true, if she could still be called things like “kind” and “gentle” with all the blood on her hands and the future she stole from Aglovale.

“You still blame yourself for back then,” Tor said, and she flinched, looking away from the mirror. “Well, His Lordship never had to force your hand to fight for him. It was your own decision, just as it was his own decision to forsake the throne.”

“I…” she trailed off, pausing for a moment as she stared at the candlelight atop her vanity. “Sometimes… sometimes I just wonder if he’s really happy, or if he’s hiding his true feelings like always.”

Tor took her braids and rolled them into something that resembled a bun. “You’ve always thought about and cared for our master,” he said. “When you awoke, great peace and happiness entered his life again. I know that much to be true.”

With that, he stood and dusted himself off, rubbing the traces of oil from his palms on a rag he took from the cart. “And you’ve certainly made my job easier.”

Djeeta glanced up at him, fingers brushing over his handiwork. “Thank you, Tor,” she said. “...What are you going to do after this?”

“Make my rounds, of course.”

“Then after?”

“Perhaps sleep.”

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her to hear that Tor slept, but it did. Without much thought, she reached forth and took hold of his sleeve before he could turn to leave.

“Stay with me, Tor… for old time’s sake?”

Something passed over his face as he placed a hand over her own with uncertainty.

“I’m afraid I… wouldn’t be of much comfort to you. I would not want you to fall sick so soon during your recovery.”

“Sick?” She cocked her head, frowning as she held onto him still. If he came down with something too, then all the more reason that he should rest.

Either she imagined it, or something pained buried itself in his expression before he turned away. “I will get you another blanket—”

She refused to let him go. “Please… Tor.”

For a moment, he simply stood there in silence, leaving her to wonder if he really was going to put his foot down this time, but like many times before, his shoulders eventually lowered in a sigh.

“As you wish,” he said, and her face broke into a smile that nearly lit up her side of the room.

After putting out the light, Tor took one of the blankets and beat it in the air a few times before he wrapped it around her in one smooth motion. She blinked at him in the half-darkness, content to let him do whatever he saw fit before he climbed into her bed. Without waiting for his invitation, Djeeta wiggled closer to him like some kind of terrible caterpillar with an agenda before she collapsed into the crook of his shoulder and drew a small _oof_ out of him.

Pleased with herself and determined to capitalize on all the ground he gave her, she curled up to snuggle even closer.

“You’re very happy about this.”

“I am,” she giggled. Even now, his presence still offered her that same nostalgic scent from way back when they were children, and with another sigh, he allowed one arm to rest over her form combined with the rolled-up blanket.

Cheeks still glowing with mirth, Djeeta wiggled one of her own arms free to take hold of his hand. As she slid her fingers between the spaces of his own, she couldn’t help but recall the day he took her and guided her through an unfamiliar and unkind world even though all of it had been on Aglovale’s orders. She remembered the warmth he gave her back then, but now the chill of his skin sent shivers down her front as she tucked his fingers beneath her chin like a mother hen trying to warm her eggs.

“I told you I wouldn’t be of much comfort to you.”

“That’s not it, silly,” she replied, blowing on the back of his hand before tucking it back in place. “I’m just reminiscing.”

Tor left it at that as she finally felt the last of his tension leave his body. Content, she shut her eyes and savored the moment they could share like this before sleep would eventually claim her.

Loneliness seemed like a faraway thing. It was just as she told Aglovale—everything she could ever want was right before her, what else could she be but happy?


End file.
